I'll admit, trying to break a record I had no way of breaking was pretty stupid. Still. It was an idea, which was more than I had when I started. Paying for my burger, I thanked Gordon and Earl for their..."inspiration". They, in turn, wished me luck, well, Gordon wished me luck. Earl gave me the finger.
The air whipped across my face, like an unwarranted penis slap when I exited the diner. The crisp chill snapped me back to reality and it's infernal logic. Was I really going to do this? What the hell was I doing? Break Wilt Chamberlain's record? How the fuck am I going to break Wilt Chamberlain's 100 point record? Isn't that an NBA record? Don't I have to be in the NBA to break that? Isn't that like...a union or something? Shit. Shouldn't I know how to play basketball first?
Questions ripped through my brain as I crossed the street. Making my way to a bus depot that looked like it had seen better days...in the sleaziest part of the 1970's. Resembling a proper back drop for drug dealers and hookers...if they were slumming it, the grime thickened the closer I got. I entered and edged toward the ticket counter skirting a floor dwelling bum, snoring thickly amid drunken slumber...and his puddle of urine.
"Can I help you?" the ticket seller half yelled in a bored, annoyed tone as I approached his plexi-glassed station. "Yeah, I need a ticket to Hershey.", I responded, in the kindest sound my irritation could muster.
Clacking away on his out of date keyboard, I could sense his resentment. This guy hated the ever lovin' shit out of his job. Squinting at the screen, muttering and jabbing at the monitor, he practically seethed with angst. I almost felt sorry for him...but, I really didn't care. I just wanted a damned ticket so I could hurry up and fail at basketball.
"It'll be thirty-one bucks.", he chirped, most of his bitterness now, hidden behind a facade of disconnection.
"What the fuck?! It's only, like...an hour away, right?", I pouted.
"Are you asking? I could look it up.", he replied., his answer slathered in sarcasm.
"What the shit! I don't have thirty bucks to--"
"Thirty-one.", he interjected snidely.
I glared at him coldly. "--thirty-ONE fuckin' dollars to piss away on a trip to Hershey."
"Soooo.", he replied with his finger hovering over the delete button.
"Is there anything cheaper?", I asked.
Turning to the monitor he squinted again, "Let me check.". His fingers punched at the keys in a broken staccato of assholery. "Nope."
"Well, that's fucking great. What the fuck am I going to do now?", I angrily asked...rhetorically.
"Don't know. What were you going to do anyway?", he answered...and asked.
"I was going there to try and beat Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in a single game record."
Discreetly rolling his eyes, he idly tapped at his keyboard. "Who's Wilt Chamberlain?"
"He was a basketball player in the NBA.", I replied as an afterthought. My mind was desperately trying to figure a way to get the ticket money. The bum behind me grumbled slightly and readjusted himself on the floor...and farting in the process.
"Didn't he fuck a lot?", the clerk inquired, derailing my hopeless train of thought. "What?", I responded.
"Wilt--what's his name. He banged a lot of chicks, didn't he?"
"Yeah, that's the rumor."
"Well, fuck, dude, that's the record you should be breaking.", he said in revelation. "I think it's like 20 million chicks or something, right?".
"That's insane. That would literally be like fucking the population of Australia. There's no way Wilt Chamberlain fucked Australia.", I retorted, "He would have pulled his own dick off in the process or have worn to a nub from all the friction.".
"Yeah, maybe you're right. Though, it's still a better record to beat than some bullshit game.".
"If it weren't for all the A.I.D.S, rejection and possibility of one or more of those women being a man, I might have entertained that thought. Either way, the game seems like it's more doable.", I elaborated.
Boom.
The air whipped across my face, like an unwarranted penis slap when I exited the diner. The crisp chill snapped me back to reality and it's infernal logic. Was I really going to do this? What the hell was I doing? Break Wilt Chamberlain's record? How the fuck am I going to break Wilt Chamberlain's 100 point record? Isn't that an NBA record? Don't I have to be in the NBA to break that? Isn't that like...a union or something? Shit. Shouldn't I know how to play basketball first?
Not Pictured: basketball skills.
Questions ripped through my brain as I crossed the street. Making my way to a bus depot that looked like it had seen better days...in the sleaziest part of the 1970's. Resembling a proper back drop for drug dealers and hookers...if they were slumming it, the grime thickened the closer I got. I entered and edged toward the ticket counter skirting a floor dwelling bum, snoring thickly amid drunken slumber...and his puddle of urine.
"Can I help you?" the ticket seller half yelled in a bored, annoyed tone as I approached his plexi-glassed station. "Yeah, I need a ticket to Hershey.", I responded, in the kindest sound my irritation could muster.
Clacking away on his out of date keyboard, I could sense his resentment. This guy hated the ever lovin' shit out of his job. Squinting at the screen, muttering and jabbing at the monitor, he practically seethed with angst. I almost felt sorry for him...but, I really didn't care. I just wanted a damned ticket so I could hurry up and fail at basketball.
"It'll be thirty-one bucks.", he chirped, most of his bitterness now, hidden behind a facade of disconnection.
"What the fuck?! It's only, like...an hour away, right?", I pouted.
"Are you asking? I could look it up.", he replied., his answer slathered in sarcasm.
"What the shit! I don't have thirty bucks to--"
"Thirty-one.", he interjected snidely.
I glared at him coldly. "--thirty-ONE fuckin' dollars to piss away on a trip to Hershey."
"Soooo.", he replied with his finger hovering over the delete button.
"Is there anything cheaper?", I asked.
Turning to the monitor he squinted again, "Let me check.". His fingers punched at the keys in a broken staccato of assholery. "Nope."
"Well, that's fucking great. What the fuck am I going to do now?", I angrily asked...rhetorically.
"Don't know. What were you going to do anyway?", he answered...and asked.
"I was going there to try and beat Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in a single game record."
Discreetly rolling his eyes, he idly tapped at his keyboard. "Who's Wilt Chamberlain?"
Now imagine the smell of stale farts. You're welcome.
"He was a basketball player in the NBA.", I replied as an afterthought. My mind was desperately trying to figure a way to get the ticket money. The bum behind me grumbled slightly and readjusted himself on the floor...and farting in the process.
"Didn't he fuck a lot?", the clerk inquired, derailing my hopeless train of thought. "What?", I responded.
"Wilt--what's his name. He banged a lot of chicks, didn't he?"
"Yeah, that's the rumor."
"Well, fuck, dude, that's the record you should be breaking.", he said in revelation. "I think it's like 20 million chicks or something, right?".
"That's insane. That would literally be like fucking the population of Australia. There's no way Wilt Chamberlain fucked Australia.", I retorted, "He would have pulled his own dick off in the process or have worn to a nub from all the friction.".
"Yeah, maybe you're right. Though, it's still a better record to beat than some bullshit game.".
"If it weren't for all the A.I.D.S, rejection and possibility of one or more of those women being a man, I might have entertained that thought. Either way, the game seems like it's more doable.", I elaborated.
[to be continued]
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